


A Broken Hallelujah

by Charlie_Remington



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Established Relationship, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Musician Stiles, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Remington/pseuds/Charlie_Remington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek didn’t really know why it was that Stiles did it. He didn’t even know if it was something worth noticing. It was like an awkward tick. Just something that Stiles did to occupy himself. Or at least that’s what Derek thought until he noticed it again and again.</p>
<p>When Stiles was searching the web for some useful information his left hand would nervously tick and tap on the edge of his desk. When there was a fight going down or something equally stressful his hands would tap out some kind of code on his thighs. And as the anxiety Stiles was feeling went up, so did the speed of his fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Broken Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rootbeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rootbeer/gifts).



> Stiles is playing Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkle and Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley. (He plays a simplified Hallelujah at the funeral) These are arrangements closest to what I imagined Stiles would sound like.  
> Sound of Silence: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwc-PBgh8-w  
> Hallelujah: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jB9f3-bXiQM

_Hello darkness, my old friend,_  
_I've come to talk with you again,_  
 _Because a vision softly creeping,_  
 _Left its seeds while I was sleeping,_  
 _And the vision that was planted in my brain_  
 _Still remains_  
 _Within the sound of silence._

The front door slammed open as an excitable nine year old ran in. It bounced off its hinges as he threw his backpack down on the ground and hardly stopped to take a breath before he bolted for the door again. The crisp smell of autumn still thick in his nostrils, wanting nothing more than to run free.

However, his progress is stopped by a grip on the back of his collar. “Hold it right there, Mr. Where do you think you’re going?” his mother asked, turning the young boy around to face a stern look of questioning, one eyebrow raised.

“Scott and I are going to go investigate in the woods. We’re playing cops, like dad,” Stiles proclaimed, breath wheezing out in his excitement.

“You’re forgetting something, Stiles,” Mrs. Stilinski looked into the family room, pointedly at the piano sitting there.

“Aww, mom! Come on, there’s only a few more hours of light to play,” Stiles complained.

A distant shout sounded, “Stiles! You comin’ or what?” Scott had arrived, shifting from foot to foot in the front yard.

Stiles turned sad, pleading eyes on his mother. “Please!” he said, lower lip pouted.

Claudia sighed with a fond smile on her face. “Fine, but you have to practice before dinner,” she amended.

Stiles grinned and hugged her, his head resting against her stomach for the briefest of moments, as she ruffled his short hair.

“You better be back by six!” She shouted at his back as he and Scott raced away into the forest.

***

Stiles sat at the piano, fingers idly playing scales as he allowed his mind to wander. The sounds of his mother cooking in the kitchen accompanied his playing. He could smell the cherry pie baking in the oven mixing with the smell of dried leaves still clinging to his clothes.

It isn’t until he hears his mother’s voice that he knows he’s almost done. She doesn’t allow him to keep a clock on the piano because he would be counting down his minutes the whole time. Instead, she always informs him when his time is almost up, and to end the lesson he plays two of her favorite songs.

He got lost in the notes. The way his fingers slid over the ivory to provide a smooth melody, and if he strained his ears he could just make out his mother humming from the kitchen. Sure, he was only nine, he should detest playing the piano, but there was something about it that just calmed everything in his body and all he focused on was the music. Not to mention his mother’s sunny smile when he played a song perfectly just made it all the better. He especially liked when he got to show off his skills to anyone who would listen. His mother would smile and nod as he sat down to play for grandparents, friends, members of the community. Basically anyone who stopped by the house. It was a sense of pride, something he and his mother shared together. A special bond that no one could ever touch.

Stiles finished all the songs and raced into the kitchen to hug his mother and help with finishing up dinner. It wasn’t long before his dad was walking in the front door and they all sat down to a nice family dinner. Mom and Dad asked Stiles how his school was going, Stiles smiled and said great. Everything was pretty much perfect and simple. Until it wasn’t. The call came in three days later.

Claudia Stilinski was buried on a dreary Saturday morning. It was drizzling on and off and everyone in Beacon Hills crowded and squeezed into that tiny church to lay her to rest. Stiles sat in the front pew through the service trying to hold back his tears. The tie around his neck was too tight, constricting around his neck, his dress pants were too short, white socks visible below the cuffs, and it was the first time that his fingers would itch and unconsciously play through a song without a piano underneath them. At the end of the service, Stiles stood. The silence roared in his ears as he walked passed the casket to the piano at the front of the church. He sat and swallowed down over what felt like a softball in his throat. Stiles raised shaking hands and played his mother’s favorite song as the pallbearers took their place and prepared to lead the procession from the church. Stiles’s eyes blurred with hot tears as he tried to finish, feeling his breathing speed up. But he had to do this one thing. One last thing for his mother. After he had finished he stood and turned around. Everyone in the church had tears in their eyes. Stiles marched into the cemetery with Scott holding his hand. That was the last time Stiles ever played the piano for anyone.

After that, Stiles began to develop things. Ticks and anxiety. Things that he didn’t have before his mother passed. A hyperactive personality to cover up the fact that inside he wanted to lie down in bed, pull the covers over his face and never get up again. He couldn’t seem to focus on homework quite like he could before. He couldn’t really do _anything_ like he could before. Math equations became squiggles and he had to highlight anything that he wanted to make sure he forced himself to read. Everyone wondered where the bright boy had gone. In his place was a snarky, disruptive trouble maker who seemed to struggle with homework, even though everyone knew that he was intelligent. And it wasn’t that he had suddenly lost his intelligence or didn’t understand. He’d just rather research things that sounded interesting until three in the morning or go to a movie with Scott than do things that would actually get him good grades. But he could live with that, maybe.

***9 years later***

Derek didn’t really know why it was that Stiles did it. He didn’t even know if it was something worth noticing. It was like an awkward tick. Just something that Stiles did to occupy himself. Or at least that’s what Derek thought until he noticed it again and again.

When Stiles was searching the web for some useful information his left hand would nervously tick and tap on the edge of his desk. When there was a fight going down or something equally stressful his hands would tap out some kind of code on his thighs. And as the anxiety Stiles was feeling went up, so did the speed of his fingers.

It took a while for Derek to deduce that there was a pattern to it. That whenever Stiles was distressed or anxious or concentrating on something really hard it would happen. After a while Derek didn’t think that it was just a nervous tick, it seemed like Stiles was tapping something specific. If Derek watched really closely he could recognize certain sequences that Stiles has tapped before but he didn’t know what it meant.

He almost asked a few times. When they were alone, doing some kind of research for something. Or when they’d curled up on the couch watching a movie. Some time when Stiles’s guard was down, but it almost seemed too cruel to ask at those times. Derek wanted to know, but he also wanted to believe that Stiles would tell him if it was important.

Then, one Thursday afternoon Stiles was extremely on edge. He had been like this all day. Not that Derek had been watching him while he was at school. That’s just creepy. He had merely been investigating something that just happened to be near the high school, and if he just happened to spend most of his time where Stiles just so happened to be taking classes, well that was merely a coincidence. But Derek noticed the tick much more than usual on that day. All throughout his classes his fingers would tap on his desk. At lunch they drummed on the table and he barely even looked at Scott as he chatted on about something. After school Stiles stood by his jeep and took some deep breaths before actually getting inside and drumming on the wheel for a few minutes before actually leaving for home.

Derek followed Stiles but remained outside for a while unsure as to whether he should intrude or not. After ten minutes Derek decided it was worth it, especially if Stiles needed him. Derek stepped inside and resolved to leave the fact that Stiles didn’t lock the door for another time. He stopped and listened and could vaguely hear something. A tune, something that sounded like music. He ascended the stairs and stopped in front of a door. He could now hear the sound clearly. It was piano music.

Derek slowly eased the door open and looked inside. Stiles sat at a piano in the corner and his fingers flowed gracefully over the keys. Not only were his hands moving, but his entire body was swaying, the music flowing through him. His head bowed slightly as he rocked forward rhythmically to press down on the damper pedal. His shoulders rolling like the crashing of waves against a cliff face as his fingers effortlessly created a complex melody and harmony.

Suddenly, Derek recognized that Stiles was playing the pattern that he usually drummed whenever he was anxious. He recognized the tune, but could not name it. Not knowing what else he ought to do, he simply leaned against the door frame and closed his eyes. He felt the music rush over him and a feeling of melancholy wrapped around his heart and squeezed tightly. Derek momentarily lost his breath at the loneliness the song evoked in him. It was beautiful, but extremely haunting at the same time.

Stiles crescendoed the song before backing back down into near silence. He then started a new song. This one was haunting as well, but softer. It had louder, more emotional parts before backing back down into softer melodic parts. It was like a light rain that picked up into a rushing storm before settling back down into a drizzle. Once the song finished, the final notes lingered in the air. It was almost like if Derek looked hard enough, he would see them hovering in front of his face. A light buzzing of the notes hummed just beneath Derek’s skin.

Derek opened his eyes and looked at Stile’s hunched form as it shook violently. He remained silent, unsure of what to say. He wanted to comfort Stiles more than anything, but he didn’t know what to do. All that came out of his mouth was, “I didn’t know you could play the piano.” Which, in retrospect, was probably the most stupid thing he could have possibly said at that moment.

Stiles didn’t turn around. “Ever stop to think maybe there was a reason for that?” he asked bitterly and sniffled.

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but then suddenly he understood. “It’s the anniversary isn’t it?” he asked and moved to sit next to Stiles.

Stiles nodded. “They were her favorite and I…” he trailed off as the tears came again. He moved his mouth but was unable to force the words passed his lips. The tears stung his face and he swiped them away desperately. He looked up at Derek and cleared his throat weakly. A shuddering breath passed his lips. “I haven’t played for anyone since she died. I couldn’t make myself. Every time I sat down I just…I panicked. I couldn’t focus, my breathing would pick up. For a while I couldn’t even look at a piano without being sick.” Stiles turned and rested his forehead of Derek’s shoulder. “Every time I played, I was taken back to her funeral. The overly thick, sickly sweet scent of flowers in my nose, the constricting noose of that awful tie around my neck, countless faceless people offering condolences, Scott’s hand in mine as I watched her casket being lowered into the ground.”

Derek’s hand came up to rub Stiles’s back, and Stiles’s hand clenched in his shirt. “I just…I just miss her…so much,” Stiles managed to get out before dissolving into sobs that rack his entire body. He grips Derek’s shirt so tightly, trying to keep himself grounded. As if, maybe, if he gripped the fabric hard enough, it would stop his hands from shaking, stop the ever present shudder of his entire body. He was breathing so hard, but he still can’t seem to get enough oxygen. He coughed and spluttered and there was definitely snot on Derek’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just held Stiles fiercely and rested his chin on Stiles’s head, never ceasing his hands on Stiles’s back. Derek didn’t expect him to say anymore just held him because that’s what he needed.

After Stiles’s sobs had quieted, Derek picked him up and gently carried him to his room. He set him in his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin before moving to leave. Stiles clutched weakly at his jacket cuff.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” Derek whispered before pressing a kiss to Stiles’s temple.

Derek went downstairs and brewed some tea, grabbed two mugs and brought them back upstairs with a bag of cookies between his teeth. Stiles was curled up in a ball when Derek returned. Derek nudged him gently with his knee and Stiles moved backwards towards the wall and sat up. Derek handed him a mug and Stiles inhaled over the curling tendrils. He warmed his ice-like hands on the mug and sipped gently.

Derek didn’t make Stiles speak. Didn’t make him explain. He just talked. He talked about Kate and how he lost his mother. Talked about what it was like to lose almost everyone he loved in one occurrence. Talked about how Stiles and Scott and everyone else became his family. He talked about their first date. How Derek had asked Lydia to come over to help him pick out a shirt, most embarrassing thing he ever did. He talked about how many times he had considered saying I love you before actually blurting it out one morning when Stiles had awoken with bedhead and a grumbly voice before rolling back over. Without even thinking about it Stiles had responded in kind before pulling Derek into his bed and lying with his forehead pressed to Derek’s collar bone.

Derek talked for at least an hour. Probably more around two. Their empty mugs on the ground next to the crumpled up bag and Stiles resting his head on Derek’s chest

“I think my mom would’ve liked you,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s shirt.

“I know mine would’ve loved you, but I hope they’re just as happy watching us from heaven, knowing we love each other.”

_I did my best, it wasn't much_  
_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_  
 _I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_  
 _And even though it all went wrong_  
 _I'll stand before the Lord of Song_  
 _With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_


End file.
